


Realizations

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Time, Knotting, M/M, Makoto is a lean mean Alpha sex machine, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Makoto is an Alpha and Haru is an Omega, and the natural order of things happens.</p><p>Or, shameless, self-indulgent Omegaverse MakoHaru smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Realizations

When they were little, the fact that Makoto was an Alpha and Haru was an Omega didn’t really make any difference at all. Makoto was only slightly taller than Haru back then, after all, and if not for the tiny markings on their lower backs, sometimes visible when their shirts rode up during some roughhousing or when they went swimming, most people probably wouldn’t have been able to tell that they were different at all. 

Makoto definitely didn’t mind back then either. He was fortunate to be born into a household with parents who couldn’t care less about the whole Alpha/Beta/Omega affair.

“Things will come naturally,” his mother would tell the other parents, waving one hand dismissively. “There’s no need to force Makoto-chan into anything.”

And perhaps it was precisely because Makoto was never raised with the so-called Alpha mindset that now, at the age of seventeen and on the brink of full maturity, he finds himself at a complete loss.

Sometimes he looks at his other Alpha friends – _like Rin,_ Makoto thinks to himself glumly – strong and confident and ready to seize the world by the horns and claim it for their own. After all, that is the role of an Alpha. To lead. To rule.

Sometimes Makoto thinks it was a mistake that he was born as an Alpha. Sometimes he stretches to look at the Alpha birthmark on his back in the mirror, having grown bigger and darker as he grew older, and he wonders whether it would have made a difference if the sign imprinted into his skin was that of a Beta or an Omega instead.

Because Makoto doesn’t feel like an Alpha at all. Maybe all his Alpha-ness went into his height and build, leaving none for his actual personality. Sure, he’s tall, probably one of tallest people in the entire neighborhood, and his relatives have cooed over how strong his arms are and the broadness of his shoulders enough times for him to have memorized that script by now. But that’s really all there is to him.

He doesn’t feel strong or confident or particularly like a leader at all. He’s terrified of roller coasters and haunted houses and horror movies. He doesn’t see himself in the future as a successful surgeon or a well-respected politician or an Olympic swimmer (as Rin is gearing up to be).

Sometimes he looks at Haru and wonders if maybe _he_ should be the Alpha instead. He’s not as tall or well built as Makoto is, but there’s a certain aura to him, a quiet, steely determination that burns inside of him like a flame – which is more than Makoto can say for himself.

In fact, Makoto thinks wryly to himself, he’s probably the biggest Alpha loser the world has ever seen.

It’s not just the problem of personality, of filling the Alpha status quo.

There’s also the problem of mates.

Rin has a mate, that Nitori kid who’s always hanging off him like a particularly excitable puppy. Rei and Nagisa haven’t said anything, but Makoto is _sure_ that they’re together too – both of them are Betas – and they’re both a year younger than him.

Makoto _really_ needs to step up his game.

The problem isn’t really finding a mate. He knows there are plenty of Omega classmates, girls and boys alike, who, just like him, are searching for a mate too, and it would be easy to just get to know one of them, and maybe eventually take a shine to them and claim them as their mate, and that would be that. 

No, the problem lies in the fact that there’s only one person he wants as his mate. 

He doesn’t want to be with anyone else but Haru.

Call him crazy, but he’s probably been in love with Haru all his life. He realized it at some point in middle school, and that was that. It was like a scientific fact, an unchangeable part of life, and Makoto hadn’t even been all that surprised when he'd looked at Haru and realized, abruptly, that the way his stomach was churning probably meant that Haru wasn’t just a friend to him anymore. That he hadn’t been for a long time.

In short, Makoto has been crazy about Haru for years, and he doesn’t see that changing any time soon.

Maybe he _doesn’t_ want it to change either.

Haru doesn’t have a mate either, and Makoto has never asked him about it.

Part of him still hopes, stupidly, crazily, completely idiotically, that maybe Haru feels the same way too, that he’s hoping that Makoto will want him as a mate too.

Makoto knows that it’s just wishful thinking, though.

*

In spite of the whole Alpha/Omega thing, Makoto and Haru have still managed to remain close over the years. Neither of their parents object to the arrangement, and they’ve agreed that they can have sleepovers at each other’s houses as long as Haru isn’t in the middle of one of his heat cycles. 

“I mean, if you want to visit him anyway, that’s fine too,” Makoto’s mother had joked, and in response Makoto had blushed about five different shades of red and protested heavily that there was _nothing_ like that going on between them.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise when Haru phones Makoto in the afternoon, just as he’s about to head to the shops to buy some snacks for Haru’s sleepover later that day, to tell him that he can’t come over.

“I’m in heat,” Haru explains, matter-of-factly, and Makoto tries to keep his voice level, even though the tips of his ears are turning hot and all he can think about is what Haru would look like – face flushed, a needy look in those blue eyes of his, how he would _smell_ like. 

Makoto clears his throat before answering, but that doesn’t stop his voice from being suspiciously high. 

“S-sure, no problem Haru. You can come over when… when you’re feeling better then,” he croaks, and Haru remains silent on the phone.

 _What would Haru look like in heat?_ Makoto finds himself wondering. _How does he cope with it? Does he sit in the bath – yeah, he probably does, maybe a cold bath, with all his clothes off, no jammers this time. His hair would plaster to his forehead from a combination of bathwater and sweat, and he’d keep his eyes closed, trying to fight off the sensations… what does it feel like to be an Omega in heat? Would Haru try to distract himself from his thoughts? Would he touch himself in the bath? Would—_

“Makoto…”

Haru’s voice comes out strained, hoarse, and it cuts straight through where Makoto’s thoughts are running wild, drags him out of his perverted imagination and back to the present.

Makoto’s cheeks are burning from shame when he finally speaks up again.

“W-what is it, Haru?” he says, and it comes out as barely a whisper, and he wonders if Haru didn’t hear him because all he’s met with is a long moment of silence.

Then—

“…Makoto. Come over?”

Instantly, time freezes up. Seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into hours, and Makoto doesn’t know exactly how long he freezes up for upon hearing Haru’s question – it’s a confession, in a way, an admission of something that Makoto’s only dared to dream of for _years_ now, and this must be it, just another one of his silly dreams, because there’s no way that Haru could _ever_ possibly mean what it is that Makoto thinks he means—

“ _Makoto_.” Haru’s voice is urgent, frustrated, and the insistence in his voice seems to light something in Makoto on fire, and there is a low heat curling in his belly when Makoto finally answers.

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathes, and then the line goes dead on Haru’s end, and he finds himself scrambling to get up and get out of his house as quickly as possible. 

He’s in the doorway, slipping on his sneakers when his mother calls out, “Where are you going, Makoto?” 

“To Haru’s,” he calls back in reply, and he doesn’t have to look at his mother to know that she’s giving him a knowing look.

“Okay,” she says, and that one word is laced with a multitude of meanings that Makoto doesn’t quite feel like deciphering right now. The important thing is that it’s an approval. “Don’t be back too late.”

“I won’t,” he promises, and then he’s off, almost tripping over his own feet and stepping on a cat in his rush to get to Haru’s place. 

He gets there in five minutes flat. He skids to a stop right in front of the doorway, pauses, catches his breath.

He presses the doorbell, then without waiting, he turns, heads for the back door instead, and lets himself in.

The first thing that hits him is the _scent_. It’s Haru’s scent, Makoto thinks to himself in a daze, and it smells _wonderful_. He stops just to take a deep breath, inhaling the scent through his nose and committing it to memory. It smells faintly like Haru, of chlorine and the sea and summer rain, but underneath that is a heady, intoxicating aroma that Makoto has never smelled before.

 _It’s the scent of heat,_ Makoto realizes giddily, and it’s with his heart pounding wildly in his chest that he heads upstairs to look for Haru.

His guess turns out to be wrong. Haru isn’t in the bath at all. He’s in his room, and when Makoto slides the door open, he’s immediately hit squarely in the face by that same smell, now ten times as powerful, and it’s completely overwhelming.

But not overwhelming enough to distract him from the sight of Haru, lying on his bed with nothing but his favorite blue hoodie on, and when he hears Makoto come in he sits up, looks Makoto dead in the eye and whispers:

“Makoto.”

That’s all it takes, and Makoto has crossed the span of the room in three wide strides before he’s pushing Haru back down onto the sheets and kissing him, just like he’s always dreamed of, except this is better, this is _real life_ , and nothing in his dreams could have ever prepared him for this moment. 

Haru is needy, demanding. His hands tug at the collar of Makoto’s shirt, but he doesn’t stop kissing Makoto anyway, lets his lips press against Makoto’s the same way a tidal wave crashes onto the sand – violent, persistent, and yet, at the same time, so completely natural that it was like they were meant to do this. 

And perhaps they were. Perhaps Makoto’s entire life has been gearing up to this very point.

Eventually Haru tears himself away from the kiss, and Makoto flushes when he looks at Haru’s red, red lips, swollen from all that kissing, and it occurs to him that _he did that_. 

“Makoto,” Haru says, tugging at Makoto’s shirt again, and Makoto can see how his pupils are blown, the flush that’s crawled onto his face, the need that’s written into his features, and he practically growls, “ _I need you inside me._ ”

It’s not unlike Haru to be this straight to be point, yet at the same time Makoto finds himself taken aback by the bluntness of his words, raw honesty instead of Haru’s usual inability to express himself – Haru, articulating his needs clearly, his _desire_ for Makoto. 

Makoto stops thinking when Haru, too impatient to wait any longer, decides to pull Makoto’s shirt off for him, flinging it to the floor next to the bed, and then heading straight for Makoto’s belt.

For one second part of him freezes up, and he almost stops Haru’s hands out of sheer embarrassment, but then something inside of him kicks in, and he’s pushing Haru back down onto the bed again to work on the buckle on his own, deftly discarding it and then kicking his pants off to the side, and he can see Haru’s eyes widening as he watches Makoto undress himself.

Instincts seem to take over from this point on, because if left to his own devices, Makoto would probably fumble and end up falling off the bed and cracking his head at some point, but it would seem that Makoto’s worries about not really being an Alpha are unfounded after all, because Makoto’s body seems to know exactly what it’s doing, even when his mind is too overwhelmed to catch up with his own actions.

Haru is already wet, the natural lubricant present in any Omega leaking out from between his thighs, and Makoto leans down to press his fingers into that slick wetness, slowly, cautiously entering with one finger first. Haru makes a noise of impatience and grinds down on that finger, telling Makoto without saying anything that he wants _more_ , so Makoto presses in a second finger, and then a third, and he’s pushing and scissoring inside of Haru and listening for the quiet little hitches of breath that Haru’s making, the only indication of pleasure that he will bring himself to make.

Makoto doesn’t particularly need Haru to be vocal in order to express his desire. In fact, the lack of words only serves to spur Makoto on further, and it’s with a certain sense of satisfaction that he experiments a little to see what makes Haru’s breath hitch and what makes him gasp, breath leaving his throat in a little whoosh of surprise.

“More,” Haru breathes, wriggling his hips a little for emphasis, and it’s with glazed eyes that he pushes himself up a little to look Makoto in the eye. “It’s not enough.” 

“Anything for you, Haru,” Makoto murmurs, lowering himself to press a kiss to the inside of Haru’s inner thigh, before he sits up to adjust their positions, grabbing Haru by the thighs to lift his hips.

He’s positioned himself right in front of Haru’s entrance, and Haru is keeping himself perfectly still. For a moment, a flicker of doubt crosses Makoto’s face, and he stills.

“Haru… Is this… is this really okay?” he mumbles, and the moment he the words leave his mouth he feels incredibly silly. It’s a little too late to be asking questions like these, not when they’ve already kissed like that and he’s fingered Haru silly, but still – once they do it, there’s no turning back.

He doesn’t want Haru to regret choosing Makoto as a mate.

Haru opens one eye to squint at Makoto, his expression a strange combination of impatience, resignation, and fondness.

“Do it,” he whispers, and then Makoto has his eyes shut and he’s pressing in, slowly, until he’s fully sheathed inside of Haru, and the heat and the tightness and the smell and _everything_ is almost too much for him and he almost comes the moment he pushes inside, but then he feels Haru’s legs wrapping around his lower back, and something inside his mind whispers _, move_ , and he does, pulling back only to push forward again in an experimental thrust, and it must be good, because a throaty gasp breaks away from Haru’s throat, such a sweet sound that Makoto is determined to hear it again.

He pulls out and thrusts again, and again, and again, with increasing force each time, and Haru has the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, his eyes tightly shut as his body is pushed back against the headboard with each of Makoto’s thrusts. His legs are still wrapped tightly against Makoto’s back, urging him on, and although he tries for restraint, the sounds still slip from his throat, little gasps and moans that are making Makoto’s head spin.

The heat that’s been coiling in Makoto’s stomach ever since that phone call is growing in size now, intensity increasing exponentially with every thrust until it's a bright, burning flame, and one final thrust pushes it over the edge, turns it into a white-hot, blinding sort of sensation that takes over Makoto completely, drags him into a momentary state of euphoria as he comes.

When he finally comes to himself Haru is touching himself, stroking once, twice before he joins Makoto in his climax as well, a breathy moan escaping from this throat as he comes, spilling all over Makoto’s stomach and his own hand.

They don’t speak for a long time, just lying there and trying to catch their breaths, and eventually Makoto tries to move away – and realizes that he can’t.

“Oh,” he says, surprised. “Knotting,” he explains to Haru, and the moment the word leaves his mouth he turns a very deep shade of red.

“Okay,” Haru replies, as if it’s nothing. “Stay here a little longer, then.” 

They lapse into silence, and there are a million things on Makoto’s mind as he lies there in Haru’s arms, still buried deep inside him. 

“…where do we go from here, Haru?” Makoto asks, quietly, tentatively, and Haru tilts his head to the side a little as he looks at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I… well…” Makoto would fidget if he could, but he can’t, not in this position, so he settles with looking at a fixed point on Haru’s bedroom wall instead. “…we’re mates now, right?”

“…yeah…”

Haru’s voice is a little embarrassed when he finally speaks up, and Makoto smiles slightly, feeling just a little bit more confident. 

“Are you… okay with that?”

Haru looks at him then, really looks at him, and his face is still a little flushed from the exertion, but his eyes are bright, and Makoto’s heart starts pounding in his chest all over again.

“I wanted it to be you,” Haru says, simply, but that’s enough for Makoto. His heart swells like a balloon about to burst, and he scoots closer and bundles Haru in his arms, pressing his face into the crook of Haru’s shoulder. 

“Me too,” he admits. “I’ve wanted that for a long time now.” 

They fall asleep eventually, waking up a few hours later, and Makoto had expected to be more embarrassed about the whole affair after the post-orgasm haze had gone away, but strangely it feels nothing short of natural to him.

He’s happy.

They clean up the soiled bed sheets and then take a bath together, all body shyness evaporating completely as he helps to scrub Haru clean, and eventually Makoto pulls on his discarded clothing and gets ready to leave.

“See you tomorrow, Haru,” Makoto says, smiling, and Haru nods. 

“See you.” 

Haru sees him to the front door and waits as Makoto puts on his shoes. Finally, before Makoto turns to go, he presses a quick kiss to Haru’s forehead. 

“I’m glad you chose me, Haru,” he mumbles against Haru’s temple, and he means it.

He really does.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Omegaverse trash.


End file.
